Haelicien, O.

⠀ ⠀ 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃. ⠀ ⠀

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘄𝗼-𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗻𝘀, 𝟭𝟵𝟮𝟭. Len and Rin Kagamine were born twins. A rarity as in most villages, the second-born twin was smothered before they could draw a proper breath, condemned as an omen of misfortune. Their family, however, was wealthy enough to ignore such superstitions. The famine came years later. Hunger hollowed the village, but never the twins. They were small enough to earn every stranger's trust. One would lead the lost deeper into the forest with an innocent smile, while the other waited silently among the trees. No bodies were ever found, leaving it to remain a mysterious case of disappearance. A quiet chuckle followed, “Who could have guessed they had been feeding on those people all along?” “Which one lured the victim, and which one wielded the knife?” The gloved finger tapped the old photograph. “Let’s make sure they never have to wonder who's to blame again.” “Let them share a body.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗻𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿, 𝟭𝟵𝟯𝟰. Malloy Reias was never interested in wealth nor fame. Only beautiful eyes. Victim after victim was left behind, their bodies growing cold while empty eye sockets stared into nothing. Each stolen pair was carefully preserved, arranged upon shelves akin to a grand exhibition. The case was never solved. The only clue linking the murders was the precise way each victim's eyes had been carved out with a knife. A page turned, revealing a faded colour photograph of glass jars lined in neat rows, each cradling a different pair of eyeballs. “What pitiful deaths,” a quiet sigh drifted through the silence. “To be stripped of one's life for no greater reason than possessing beautiful eyes.” The page closed with a soft snap. “Then let him bear the most unique pair of eyes.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝘃𝗮, 𝟭𝟵𝟱𝟲. Miku Hatsune galloped through the village without slowing. Five children had been playing in the middle of the road. By the time the horse's hooves struck the cobblestones, it was already too late. Blood splattered over the rocks, yet the noblewoman never looked back. Behind her, grieving parents gathered what little remained of their children. Their bodies had been crushed beyond recognition, forcing the village to bury all five beneath a single grave. “How about a horse's hooves for legs?” A brief chuckle soon followed, “Tell me, shouldn't a noble know how to sing?” Yet, no one was there to answer the question. “Then let her be the Diva.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝘁, 𝟭𝟵𝟳𝟬. Théo Tanneux stole people from the safety of their own beds. Children, women. Whoever happened to catch his interest. He slipped through open windows, locked doors. By dawn, they would simply be gone. His captives were stripped naked and locked inside iron cages before being paraded through underground auctions, sold to the highest bidder like nothing more than a livestock. A brief silence followed before the figure concluded, “Like a caged monkey on display.” A sound of rustling page sounded. “Monkeys are remarkably flexible, aren't they? They're close enough to humans in ancestry. Break a few bones, reshape the spine, and the body will eventually learn to bend.” The report was then quietly closed. “Let's make a caged monkey.”

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟴. Ra Briezt had always loved the hunt. Born into privilege, he inherited a playground where lives could be bought as easily as trophies. His father purchased slaves, released them onto a private island, and he hunted them for sport. The chase was exhilarating. The terror in their eyes, the desperate sprint through the trees. He laughed louder with every kill. “Such a young man, yet already fascinated by such a crude pastime.” A lone finger glided over the photograph of a youth barely old enough to be called a man, his grin frozen in time. The figure let out a sigh, “Sometimes you have to wonder which one is the human... and which one is the animal.” They then tore the photograph clean in two, the young man's face splitting neatly along the seam. “Curious, isn't it? Humans are so fond of calling beasts savage, yet I've never seen an animal hunt for amusement.” “If he likes it so much, then let him be the beast. With a pair of ears and a tail, body of furs.” “Yes,” the figure nodded approvingly as they set aside the torn photograph. “Let's make our own lion.”

⠀ 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐔𝐗-𝐏𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝟏𝟗:𝟑𝟎. ⠀

⠀ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄, 𝟏𝟗:𝟎𝟎. ⠀

⠀ Iklan dulu Kipas angin kesedot sampah Kipas angin kesedot sampah Kipas angin kesedot sampah Kipas angin kesedot sampah ⠀

⠀ 𝐂𝐮𝐚𝐩-𝐂𝐮𝐚𝐩 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠 ⠀